Huddy OneShot: The Homecoming
by Muna16
Summary: Wilson and Cuddy nervously await House's return from Mayfield. This single scene includes a flashback to the Huddy college hook-up.


**The Homecoming**

It was about 3 p.m. on Friday when Cuddy and Wilson arrived at House's apartment. They both looked solemn, as if they were attending a funeral for someone they cared about. This was no funeral, of course, it was actually a homecoming, but still, the mood was melancholic.

Wilson unlocked the door and held it open for her. She came in and breathed in deeply. It didn't smell like him, not anymore. "Why do you think he wanted us to be here when he arrived?" she asked, knowing Wilson couldn't figure out their friend any more than she could, but still, needing an answer.

"Maybe he wanted to be sure we had kept up his place for him," Wilson offered.

Cuddy looked around. The cleaning team she sent over had done a good job. Everything was spotless. It smelled like furniture polish. "Damn," Wilson said, looking at the piano. "They cleaned it, I thought I told you-"

"I did, I told them not to touch the piano," Cuddy said. They were both standing in front of it now. They were thinking how they might be able to get it dusty again in the next few minutes, but realized they would have to suffer House's wrath instead.

Cuddy headed to the kitchen. "I hope you remembered the coffee."

"Cuddy, you gave me a list and called me 5 times while I was at the supermarket. The coffee is there in the top shelf of the pantry."

Wilson reviewed the perfectly stacked mail he had organized for House on the living room table while Cuddy started to brew a fresh pot. "Maybe he just wanted to get here on his own," she said. "Maybe he is trying to break his cycle of dependency on you, on us."

Wilson considered this, met her eyes with his stare, and laughed out loud. "Somehow, I don't think so, Cuddy," he said, sarcastically. "They may have broken him from the Vicodin addiction, but they didn't give him a personality transplant. He will still be House."

I hope so, she thought to herself.

Wilson was checking the Tivo to be sure General Hospital had recorded when Cuddy came back with two cups of fresh java. They sat on the couch by each other and waited. "At least you have seen him in the last two months," she said. "I don't know what to expect."

"I told you, he is fine, the last few times I visited, he was back to his old self."

"But even then, he didn't let me visit," she added, sadly.

"Cuddy, when he is ready, he will share it all with you. You have to believe me. You have to trust him."

She took a deep breath. She didn't want to be crying when he arrived. She didn't want to even look like she had cried. She got up and started to pace, running her hands through her hair nervously.

Wilson wanted to distract her; he wanted to keep her busy until he arrived. "You know our story, Cuddy, how House and I came to be friends, why don't you tell me yours?"

She looked at him, surprised. "He hasn't told you?"

"No. Nothing. I know you met at Michigan, but that is all I know. It must be a hell of a story."

Cuddy smiled, but it was a sad smile. "It is a hell of a story, actually, but if he hasn't told you, then you know I won't."

"You're right. Don't tell me. I probably don't want to know how he dic*** you around anyway. Today is supposed to be about a new beginning."

"Is that what you think? That he dic*** me around?" she said indignantly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to suggest anything about you, it's just his track record with women-"

"You don't know anything, James. You think you know him, but you don't, not really. You shouldn't make assumptions."

Wilson was stunned into silence. He apologized quickly and watched her move across the room, almost as if she were in a trance. He considered her words, and wondered if indeed he had ever truly understood Gregory House.

She walked over to the bookshelf, knowing that the very top shelf held the medical books that would remind her of those days - her sophomore year at the University of Michigan. She had seen the books when she and Wilson went through his apartment looking for stashed Vicodin.

_She found the organic chem. book she was looking for and pulled it out. She was pre-med, but was taking classes with upperclassmen, trying to finish medical school and complete an internship and residency with enough time left in her actual life to get married and have a family. She had always been committed to both of these goals, and she lived by a number of rules in order to be sure she would achieve both._

_It was advanced organic chemistry that stood between her and her dream. She had no business taking it as a sophomore, but her ambition drove her to it, and she quickly fell behind. After she failed the first couple of exams, her professor, normally a real harda$$, encouraged her to drop the course and take it again as a second semester junior, after she had taken more chemistry. She wouldn't have it. Failure wasn't in her vocabulary. She would find a way to bring it up._

_That's how she got to know Greg House, a third year med student. She had heard about him since she started pre-med as a freshman, and in the spring semester of her freshman year she went as far as to audit a class to be near him. He was tall, gorgeous, witty and otherwise perfect. He also had a bad attitude, and he was an arrogant a$$, but still, she couldn't help the attraction - she quickly developed an unhealthy crush. _

_When her organic chem. professor suggested House would make a good tutor, she jumped at the idea. He started to come over to her dorm, once a week, and they would sit at her desk and work through her notes. He was brilliant – a real savant. She was smart also, she was the valedictorian of her high school class, but she had to work for it. She studied long hours, made outlines, recorded lectures…he simply just absorbed it all. If he wasn't so cute she would have hated him._

_They became friends easily, debating often about just about anything. They pushed each other's buttons, and challenged each other's thinking at every turn. He enjoyed her company much more than the company of girls his own age. They had flirted with the idea of getting involved, coming close to kissing during a couple of their study sessions, but they were afraid of ruining the blossoming friendship. Besides, she had a plan – in order to achieve both of her dreams – medicine and family – she had to stay focused. Hooking up with a guy in her second year of college would not help her with either ambition._

_It was near the end of the year. He was helping her study for her organic chem. final. They were at his apartment. Out of the blue, he said, "Lisa, do you have any idea that you are the most beautiful woman on campus?"_

_She had blushed. She was blushing now, just remembering how that comment had warmed her that day. "You, Greg House, are a player," she had answered. "You bang a different girl every weekend, and I am sure you tell them all they are beautiful," she said, not falling for his sweet talk. "Let's get back the equations."_

_Then he had run his fingers through her hair. "That isn't completely true. I don't tell them they are beautiful," he said. "But you are – you are smart and beautiful, you challenge me, and we have wasted too much time, don't you think?"_

_He leaned in for a kiss and brushed his lips on hers. The electricity of the moment was powerful. She was almost drawn in. She almost lost control. She had wanted this badly since she audited that damn endocrinology class to be near him, but now she was scared to death. Maybe she loved him, but if she slept with him, he'd still be working on his internship next year and she still had so much schooling to finish. There was no way this would work. At least he would be interning here, in town, but still, the road was too long for them to get involved now. She talked herself out of it._

"_I think I love you Lisa," he said, passing his thumb over her lower lip. And that is all it took. They made love that night and held each other, talking about their future the way young lovers do. The next morning, he had an early class. Her organic chem. final wasn't until the late afternoon, so she slept in and later showered, thinking how lucky she was. She had pulled open her books again, and gone back to his desk to review for her test. She was looking for a pad to take some notes when she saw it. It was a letter from UCLA Medical Center. He was being offered a special internship, one that included a double specialty in infectious diseases and nephrology. They only offered this opportunity to one intern each year. He had been selected from a pool of hundreds of qualified candidates from across the country._

_He hadn't told her anything about it. He hadn't even said he had applied anywhere else. She had never considered that he might give up an opportunity like this for her. There was only on thing to do. She put the letter from UCLA back in the drawer, so it looked untouched. She wrote him a note, left it on his desk, picked up her stuff and went to her dorm to have a good cry. She packed up her things, grateful that this would be her last final of the semester. She took her final, passed the class with a B+, and went back home for the summer._

She was leafing through his organic chem. book when she saw it. "_Greg – thanks for all of your help this semester. Getting to know you has been the highlight of my life. I know I will never meet anyone who will challenge me the way that you have, and for that I thank you. The rumors are right, you are a brilliant lunatic, but you are also much more than that. About last night – you gave me everything I could have ever wanted or hoped for. Love, Lisa_."

He was wounded by her disappearance, but his pride did not allow him to look for her. He went on to UCLA, and she didn't see him again until they started working together at PPTH. He was already living with Stacy, and she was beginning her rise to the position of Dean of Medicine. They never did talk about what had happened that night in college.

She was lost in thought, holding the organic chem. text, when he entered his place.

"I'm baaack," House said, channeling Jack Nicholson's performance in The Shining.

Wilson jumped up to greet him. Cuddy put the book down on the backrest of the couch and gave him a light hug. House looked at them and said, "What, no balloons? No welcome home banner? No cake?"

And then he saw it, the piano. "What the-"

"Sorry House, we told the cleaning crew not to touch-"

"Ssshhh," House shushed Wilson. He sat on the bench and played a few scales. "It's okay," he said. "The hammers, the strings, it's okay." He looked at his friends.

"This isn't a funeral, you know," he said. "You guys need to lighten up."

"Why did you want us to meet you here?" Cuddy asked.

House limped to the kitchen to serve himself some coffee. He had smelled it when he opened the door, and he had missed good coffee so much. The instant cr** they served at Mayfield was torture on the taste buds. He had managed to avoid direct eye contact with her, and that was making things just a bit easier.

"Well," he began, "there are many reasons. At the top of the list, though, is that you were both going to be worrying about me all weekend. I figured if I gave you the pleasure of seeing me in the flesh, you might understand when I kick you out and tell you not to call, not to stop by, and that I'll see you at work on Monday. So, take a good look. I am fine. The leg hurts like hell, but it has felt worse. I won't stick a knife in a socket, or drink myself to death, or anything else – so now that you have seen me, both of you can go home."

Wilson was right, Cuddy thought, no personality transplant.

Wilson, however, knew House better than Cuddy thought. He could see that House was not making eye contact with her. It occurred to him that the actual reason he asked them to meet him at his place was to avoid being alone with Cuddy. She would inevitably have come by to see him, and he would not have been able to deflect.

"Well, I can see you are fine, House," Wilson said abruptly, "so I'll leave you two to catch up. Call me if you need anything." He smiled weakly at Cuddy as he passed her on his way out the door.

House followed him to the door, pi$$ed at his friend for the betrayal, and then he stood there by the open door, hoping she would get the hint. She walked over, picked up the organic chem. book she had left on the couch, and put it back on its spot on the bookshelf. She went to the door and stood in front of him.

"You were looking through my old organic chem. book?" he said, keeping is gaze on her forehead, avoiding her beautiful blue grey eyes.

"Yes," she said. "I was thinking about Michigan."

"That was a long time ago."

"I know."

Then she added, "Are you going to be okay with the probation at work?"

"No, but do I have a choice?"

She smiled. "The team needs you, they are struggling. Even Foreman is struggling. They haven't killed anybody yet, but it's not like they haven't tried."

He could have fallen into an easy conversation about work, but he knew he owed her more than that. He forced himself to look at her. Their eyes finally met. He took a deep breath. "I can't tell you what happened, not yet. I want to, and I will, but- just know I am sorry for hurting you."

She put her hand on his face softly. "It's okay House. I know you will tell me. Take all the time you need."

She started walk out the door, but something about his honesty, something about the vulnerability that he had just displayed, made her look back at him. Their eyes locked again. She said, "You know, I never did explain why I disappeared after that one night we spent together." She paused; this was going to be harder than she thought.

He looked at her, surprised she would even bring this up. He had read her note a million times over the years, and he had come up with so many reasons for what happened. So much time had passed, so much had already happened between them. Why would she bring this up now?

She took a deep breath. "You had gone to class and I was looking for paper in your desk drawer when I saw the letter from UCLA." A tear escaped her right eye, and House gasped for air at the sound of her words. "I couldn't have cost you that," she said.

"Cuddy," he said slowly and so quietly that she barely heard him. He pulled her towards him and buried his face in the crook of her neck, his tears tangled in her hair. He almost inhaled her. She held him tightly, never wanting to lose the feeling of being so close. They pulled away from each other slowly, and forehead to forehead, they looked into each other's eyes.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to push her onto the wall and rip her clothes off. He wanted to suck on her breasts and nibble on her neck and make wild, passionate love to her. He wanted to be inside of her and make her scream with delight. But something told him to wait. That was just his delusion. Something told him that what he really wanted was much more than that. What he really wanted was the fulfillment of that journey they began at Michigan all of those years ago.

She was puzzled by his reaction. They were standing so close, there was no space between them, they could feel their hearts beating, no - their hearts pounding, yet he was not making a move. She could feel his breath on her mouth. She longed to feel his tongue on hers, the way she had the night she lost Joy. She invited him with the intense yearning of her eyes. But he held back. Then he said, finally, "So, what would you say if I asked you to go out to dinner with me, maybe next weekend?"

She chuckled, understanding the reason for his hesitation. She pecked his stubble with her lips softly and said, "I would tell you to pick me up Friday at 7." She walked down the hall with tears in her eyes and a smile on her lips. She wondered how a nonkiss could taste so good.


End file.
